


Blue is the Most Human Color

by WindyWordz



Series: This is Gospel [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Just something I felt like writing, Lots of that, M/M, POV Lance (Voltron), References to Depression, Yelling, and lance being a bottler who finally lets his shit blow at keith, but like, but surprisingly good at comforting someone who needs it, canonverse, hint: it's lance, it's mainly lance being an actual dick, just feels, keith and lance fight, keith is unsurprisingly bad at words, klance, low blows, not a whole lotta love, purely self-indulgent bc I read way too much fluff and needed some quality klangst in my life, there's not a lot of romance, they make up too, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindyWordz/pseuds/WindyWordz
Summary: He was usually in control of it.Level-headed, clever, supportive. He could clear any tension in the room with a perfectly placed pun that left that groaningly funny taste in your mouth where you didn't know whether to laugh or roll your eyes. He was always the one with the cocky grin and smooth one-liners, the one who kept conversation going and light. He was supposed to be the comedic relief that everyone needed in the tense atmosphere that was always surrounding them, ready to give that terrible pick-up line and be cut off by someone sharply saying his name when they realized what he was saying. It was what he did, it was what he expected, it was how people expected him to behave.So why did he feel so empty?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing, enjoy.
> 
> If you want to tag/show me in anything relating to this story, my tumblr is Sasaina-Ai.tumblr.com

He was usually in control of it.

Level-headed, clever, supportive. He could clear any tension in the room with a perfectly placed pun that left that groaningly funny taste in your mouth where you didn't know whether to laugh or roll your eyes. He was always the one with the cocky grin and smooth one-liners, the one who kept conversation going and light. He was supposed to be the comedic relief that everyone needed in the tense atmosphere that was always surrounding them, ready to give that terrible pick-up line and be cut off by someone sharply saying his name when they realized what he was saying. It was what he did, it was what he expected, it was how people expected him to behave.

So why did he feel so empty?

No matter how his day went or who he talked to in any given conversation, the second he was alone, it was like all emotions had left him. He was drained and irritable, often holing himself up in his room to brood or sleep it off. He had this deep-set, aching, empty feeling under his sternum that beat against the interior of his ribcage and scratched along his spine. It was like a black-hole had opened where his heart should be; just a painful void devoid of any stars. He hated it more than anything. He could pretend to be happy and obnoxious all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he was still light-years from his family and home, surrounded by the suffocating vastness of space with six other people who probably wanted him dead by now with the way he acted.

Lance was currently sitting in his room, back against an empty wall with his knees pulled in, arms loosely wrapped around them as his head tilted back to rest against the hard surface, eyes closed. The lights were on their highest level to try and evaporate the darkness from every corner of his room; Lance had even turned the heat up higher than a comfortable temperature. He didn't want darkness right now, he wanted to pretend he was back home, sitting in the sun in his backyard while he basked in it's warmth. It wasn't the same, but it was the closest he had while on the chilled metal of the giant Altean ship.

But hey, whatever. He'd get over it. He always did.

He dropped his head down, letting it loll into a roll to get the stiffness out of his neck from sitting still so long. He blinked open his eyes, and let his sight refocus and adjust to the light fully. His bayard was sitting on the desk to his left, just with arm's reach. He reached for it, and began activating and deactivating it robotically, barely flinching when it flashed between forms.

He decided that maybe sitting alone in his room right now, brooding harder than Keith on his worst days, wasn't the best idea. So he tossed the weapon to his sheets and stood, grunting at the several pops that echoed through the room as he did so. The soft whir of his door opening and closing followed him a few steps down the hall, leaving his light on for when he came back. The corridor was quiet, and much darker than the environment he'd just been in. The sound of the soles of his shoes danced across the walls, like water dripping from a leaky faucet, irritatingly serene. The rest of the castle was silent, the brightness level of the twenty-four hour, light-regulation system indicating it was around maybe one or two in the morning. But Lance paid it no heed, letting his feet take the lead and trying to keep his thoughts from becoming too dark on their own.

He only paused when he passed a large window, finding the other side illuminated and occupied. He blinked, peering in to see none other than his infamously, self-proclaimed rival. He was sparring with the gladiator, again, doing an impressive set of moves that would of had Lance flying across the room and a pretty set of bruises across his ribcage. But not a single one hit the machine, who dodged them and mercilessly counterattacked. Lance was completely unsurprised that Keith was up training at this hour, but he watched for a bit, noting the two were on equal levels and it would be a while before one of them broke, before continuing down the hall unnoticed.

His feet led him to the kitchen, but he didn't feel like eating weird, alien, food goo. Didn't feel like doing anything, really. But he remembered Keith training, and how he'd skipped dinner earlier. How he always skipped dinner to train. 

Before Lance really realized what he was doing, he'd filled a bowl with goop, stuck a spoon in, and was walking back the way he came. He lightly tapped the button to open the door to the training room, the quiet whir and breath of warmth from the other room washing over him. Keith was still training, locked in a fight that now looked much more intense. Lance just stood there as the door closed behind him, blinking a few times as he watched the scene transpire. It was nearly ten minutes before the gladiator finally got the upper hand and was able to find an opening before Keith could cover it, knocking the red paladin back before a swing of the staff sent him flying. Lance almost snickered at the blunt 'oof' that came from the other, but felt like the emptiness in his chest was blocking the air to his lungs.

"End simulation," Lance said, loud enough to be registered by the room, and the gladiator fell limp.

Keith quickly picked himself back up, breath shaking from his lips but limbs steady. He deactivated his bayard, letting it hang relaxed in his fingers as he walked over to where Lance was still standing by the door, stopping when there was a few feet between them. 

Lance was quick to pull out his smirk, cocking a brow as he draped himself into a confident but relaxed position, "What's wrong, mullet-man? Did the big, scary gladiator knock you over? You don't have any boo-boos, I hope."

"Don't patronize me, Lance," Keith growled, moving just to Lance's right where the shelf was located, picking up the towel that was laying there and using it to dry the sweat that was dripping down his jaw.

Lance gave a roll of his eyes, putting up his free hand defensively but without commitment, "Oh, well,  _excuse me_ , sourpuss. What's got your panties in a twist?"

If Keith's brow could furrow further over his eyes, it did. "Seriously, Lance. Don't even start with me."

"Whatever, man," Lance huffed, "but you better step up your game. That was, what, level three?"

Now it was Keith's turn to roll his eyes, but the menacing glare remained, "You can barely hold your own at level two without back-up."

"Shiro can do at least level five." That was a bit of a low blow and he knew it.

The way Keith tucked his chin, snarling silently, made his eyes darken and he looked actually angry, "Did you come here just to get a rise out of me?"

"Oh, absolutely," Lance chuckled, a sour taste biting at the back of his tongue with the sound, but he made his eyes glint and crinkle with the sneer that followed. "Favorite pass-time, hands down. Right up there with jerkin' off and entertaining the ladies."

"What is your deal, Lance?" Keith snapped, turning to the blue paladin fully. "You've been nothing but an grade-A asshole for a while now. If it were just to me, I'd understand, but you even snapped at Hunk earlier during meditation." He took a step towards the taller male.

Lance took a step back, feeling a particularly hard hit in his chest that threatened to break his sternum.

"Nope, you're imagining it," was Lance's retort, grip tightening on the bowl a bit as he pinned his smile in place. "I'm just doing this to spite you in particular."

Keith tossed the towel to the shelf, "Oh, what, because we're  _rivals?_ Because you're so desperate to bite at somebody's throat that you pick the one guy who doesn't actually have the patience to deal with your shit?"

Now it was Lance's turn to scowl, "Hey, fuck you, I can do what I want and bother whoever I want."

"Well I don't want to put up with it anymore!" Keith scowled right back, taking a few more steps towards Lance, who didn't move away this time. "Grow up!"

"It's not that easy!" Lance snapped.

"You're the only one who hasn't yet, Lance!" Keith gave the taller male's chest an irritated shove,

" _Fuck you!_ " Lance practically shouted, taking a step towards Keith himself, teeth bared. They were close enough now that their breaths mingled, and something inside him snapped. There was no empty feeling anymore, only this white hot rage he'd tried to suppress for decades, slowly building up until it broke through his carefully constructed and maintained facade. And for once, Lance didn't give a single fuck. "You don't even know what I'm going through! You're just a prick who got kicked out of the garrison because you couldn't follow orders, before you secluded yourself in the desert for a year." Lance could see the change in Keith's pupils as they went from ferocious to confused, but was too wrapped up in his rant to actually care. "You have  _no idea_ what it's like to have everything you've known for your entire life - your family, your home, your very identity - stripped from you before you even get a say in whether you're ready to 'grow up' and defeat an evil empire that's ten thousand years in the making."

"Lance, I-"

"No, fucking-  _¡Cállate!_ No quiero oírlo," he hissed, and unceremoniously shoved the almost-forgotten bowl of food goo into Keith's hands. He practically punched the button to open the door, ducking through it before it had even fully opened, ignoring whatever call the other threw at his back. He was enraged, blood boiling as he rushed down the hall. All he could think about was anger and regret and a woeful homesickness that pierced through him like a Galra bullet, leaving a burning hole in its wake.

He was at the observatory deck before he'd even realized where he was going. He stomped over to the railing and hopped over it, sitting on the cold, metal bars with ease. Hands gripped them like supports, shaking, knuckles white. He was still angry, but it was already subsiding. He never had been one to stay that way for long, much more piercing feelings taking over like guilt and regret. He sighed after a few minutes, releasing the bars and bringing his hands to his lap, lightly overlapping the palms so he could look at them. He flexed his fingers absently, not really seeing what was in front of his eyes, trying not to feel sour and guilty over what he'd just said to Keith. He hadn't deserved that, and Lance had only proved his accusation of being an asshole when he blew up at him.

He sat there for what felt like hours, just sitting on the railing and staring at his hands, the only light in the room coming from the billions of stars littering the space outside. The weight of his actions hung over him like wet cement, dragging his shoulders down and making the expansion of his diaphragm with each breath a little difficult.

He didn't really hear the door open behind him, the soft thunking of steel-toed boots against hard metal sounding behind him, drawing closer until they stopped a few feet behind him.

"I was looking for you."

"Go away, Keith," Lance tried to sound angry still, but all he sounded like was tired, defeated in a way. There was silence behind him for a minute.

"What _was_ that?" Keith asked, and Lance was surprised to hear his voice even, almost soft. He was wary about talking with Lance, and if it wasn't for the almost painful ache in his chest that made him want to lie down and stop breathing, Lance would have picked at him for it.

"Just me trying to get a rise out of you," Lance replied casually, still not turning to Keith. "I'm trying a new approach. The old 'get mad back and storm out before they can counter'. It's a classic, really."

There was a quiet sigh behind him, and Lance wanted it to sound more annoyed than tinted with an underlying sadness. "I know that's not what it was."

"Nope. Totally was. Now go away."

"Lance, you never get angry like that." Keith pressed on, ignoring the almost silent plea in the other's voice. If anything, it was what actually solidified his resolve to push. 

"I'm surprised you can even tell I was angry with how emotionally-constipated you are," Lance let out a single, sour chuckle. "I guess it took literally blowing up in your face for you to notice. How typical of you, Keithy boy."

"We're not doing this right now." He could practically feel the red paladin pinching the bridge of his stupid, freckled nose.

"Apparently we are unless you want to go away like I told you to, oh, three times now?" Lance didn't notice he was absently rubbing circles into his palm with one thumb, still looking but not seeing what was in front of him.

There was more silence, and Lance would have forgotten the other was there until he heard him shift, felt the air move around him as Keith came up and leaned against the railing next to him. Lance didn't look over at him, and Keith didn't either, keeping dark eyes trained on the vastness before him.

"Is, uh... there anything you want to, I don't know, talk about?" The shorter male started.

"Not with you, pretty boy." Lance's reply was flat, his motivation for picking on the other vacant. He knew it was obvious, he still didn't care enough to actually leave just to continue to brood silently.

Silence stretched between them again. Lance lifted his face enough to look out into the darkness before them, blinking at the unknown constellations and their lack of familiarity made his chest hurt. Keith stood next to him, rigid with his arms crossed as he leaned over the rail. There was a tense space between them, but after a while the air started to settle, as if the rage that had taken over Lance was nothing but blanket that could be shed and dropped to the ground. It became warmer, more comfortable, and something about just having another person beside him in the room made Lance feel a little better. Not that he'd ever admit that to Keith himself.

"I'm sorry," Lance finally said, blinking tiredly. "For yelling at you. That was... that was my bad. I shouldn't have lashed out like that."

"Yeah, well," Keith started with a shrug that Lance caught out of the corner of his eye, "Everyone gets mad sometimes, some more than others, some less. I'm actually surprised you lasted this long before blowing up."

"Gee, thanks, sweetheart. That makes me feel  _so_ much better." Lance added a roll of his eyes, and thought he saw Keith's lips twitch upwards.

"Well, it's true. You're the emotional one in the group, second only to Coran. I'm actually impressed."

Lance felt his mouth start to pull into a tight line, "It's not something you should be impressed by. It has consequences." Now he could see Keith glance up at him, try to inspect his face from the awkward angle, and was glad that his hoodie covered just enough of his face that he didn't have to turn away to hide.

"Like what?"

"Things."

"Like?"

" _Things_."

" _Like?_ "

"Keith."

"Lance."

Now it was Lance's turn to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes scrunching shut with a soft groan of annoyance, "Bad things, alright? Look, I'm supposed to be all smiles and dumb puns and obnoxious laughter, but no one is happy all the time, okay? Just, leave me alone."

"Does standing here until you decide you want to talk about it count as leaving you alone?" Keith asked, blinking up at Lance as he released his hold on his face.

"You're gunna be standing there for an awful long time, buddy." Lance sighed, returning his hand to his lap.

Keith shrugged, turning back to the window, "I can wait."

Silence. 

"Did you eat the food I brought you?" Lance asked quietly.

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"Good."

More silence. It felt like it stretched on forever, made Lance all too aware of how deeply set that aching emptiness in his chest was. It was cold and heavy. Lance was the first to break it when he felt like he was actually suffocating.

"I miss my family." Lance's voice was soft, afraid that if he spoke too loudly, his voice would crack.

"Well that didn't take nearly as long as I expected."

Lance gave a soft snort, "Dammit, Keith."

"Sorry." But Lance could see the tips of his lips twitch up a bit with the apology.

Lance looked up, blue eyes like deep-ocean waves tracing a stray meteor as it rolled through the weightlessness of space. He paused another moment before continuing,"I miss the ocean, and my mom's cooking, and my obnoxious siblings, and holiday parties, and rain." His frown pulled tighter, eyes squinting against the building of prickly heat that meant tears were on their way. "And I'm scared."

"Of what?" Keith asked, just as quietly. 

"Everything." Lance leaned forward and crossed his arms, low-key hugging himself before continuing. "Not reaching people's expectations of me, not reaching my own expectations of me, failing during missions, failing when it's important, not being able to save anyone and losing them, failing the universe and letting Zarkon win, continuing to prove I'm the worst pilot and the biggest disappointment the team has, never seeing my family again-" He stopped when he felt a hand on his leg, soft and tentative, but reassuring with its warmth. He still didn't look at Keith, but the hand brought him back to reality and he realized he was panting, his hands aching from squeezing his arms hard enough that they would probably have finger-shaped bruises if he wasn't wearing his jacket.

"It's okay to be afraid," Keith said quietly. "Everyone is afraid of things. And I'm sure the other's share your fears." His hand gave a slight squeeze, "I know I do."

Lance took a moment to steady his breathing, relaxing his hold on himself. He had no idea how the other could be so plainly honest, just speaking his mind as it was, "Don't make fun, Keith. I was being serious."

Keith looked up at him, and this time Lance peeked over the hem of his hood to meet his eyes. "So am I."

They stared at each other for a few moments, before Lance gave a soft couple of laughs. "You are really bad at this comforting thing, dude," he lied, but the a soft smile lingered on his lips with his next statement. "But I appreciate the effort."

Lance was surprised when the other's silence was disrupted by him hopping up to join Lance on the bar, settling in naturally as the blue paladin turned to look at him fully. There was the tiniest dot of green goo caught on the corner of his mouth, and heavy bags under his eyes from his long nights of training and getting up early to start his routine over again. His hair was drying from sweat, but the clumps of hair on the back of his neck were still moist, sticking to the skin. His clothes were also drying; Lance could smell the sweat and musk from his workout, as if he hadn't even showered before he came looking for the brunet.

"I lived in the desert completely isolated for a year. Was never good with people before that, outside of team drills at the Garrison. So I'm not surprised I suck at this." He gave a small scoot to his right, closing the distance to Lance so their shoulders brushed. Just enough for that bit of physical contact that Lance really needed. 

Lance gave a soft hum, dropping his hands to rest in the crease of his elbows, "Yeah. But it's still appreciated. Thanks."

"What's this, the great Lance McClain, actually thanking his  _rival?_ " Keith gave a small smirk, tilting his head to the other.

Lance felt a little bubble pop in his chest, soft and fizzy, and he gave a quiet laugh. "Alright, I take it back. You're awful."

"Nope, it's already been given out. It's mine."

"Wow,  _grosero_ , mullet," Lance huffed.

" _¿De qué estás hablando?"_ Keith asked, smirk widening. And Lance would have been surprised if not for how he butchered the pronunciation into the next solar system. Before he knew it, Lance was laughing, and then he lost his balance and he was falling. Keith went to catch him, but Lance's leg knocked his loose, and they both tumbled backwards onto the deck. Both of them were silent at the impact, blinking at each other for a moment. Then they both started laughing, flipping onto their backs with open mouths and wide smiles, their laughter ringing throughout the wide room, and suddenly Lance didn't feel so empty anymore. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Regina Spektor's "Blue Lips"
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccZuKOTb6ug
> 
> PLEASE DON'T REPOST MY ART! Instead, reblog the post from my art blog [here](https://sasaina-ar.tumblr.com/post/153239755713/a-scene-from-my-klance-fic-blue-is-the-most-human)
> 
> TRANSLATIONS  
> (I apologize heavily before this, it's been a few years since I've needed to use spanish in anything)
> 
> cállate - shut up  
> No quiero oír se - I don't want to hear it  
> grosero - rude  
> ¿De qué estás hablando? - What are you talking about?


End file.
